


Violets

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Fisting, Bottom Jensen, Domestic Violence, Isolation, M/M, Top Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 05:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Original prompt: Drips. Drips. The crimson paint on his lips, a tint of faint copper smell, reminds you to stop touching him, but you can't. Warm liquid draining down the pipe with all the water from the faucet, that's yours, himhimhim all of it, from head to toes. Pink tongue licking the bruised lips from kisses and the rough hands that mean to put him into his own place, then the tip of velvety muscles moved itself to the fake tooth inside his mouth that replaced what his lover have plucked out the old one himself. His finger started tapping on where the other did put a blooming violet welt on the cheek, the exact hue of color that he deserves.





	Violets

Things would be so much more difficult if he was a woman. It’s a good thought: it could be worse. He can’t imagine doing this pregnant.

Jensen clears his sinuses against the freezing air of another fresh morning, pulls his Stetson deeper over his eyes, pops the collar of his wool-lined flannel jacket for protection. The crunch of his boots on frozen dirt makes up a satisfaction he never thought he’d have.

He climbs into the truck and directs her up the switchbacks, checks on the horses—they’re doing fine. Jackie holds her nose high and does the most work like that. She trots behind Jensen who’s glad for the silence out here, the view. He pulls his hand from the pocket of his jeans to hold it against his cheek; the bruise burns against the cold. He’ll have to get back soon.

If they had kids, he’d bring them up here at every chance he’d get. Let them play out here, teach them horseback riding, everything. If they’d be anything like Jared, though, they’d probably hate it. The horses were Jensen’s idea, and Jared’s tolerating them.

Back down, at the farm, it’s about nine AM now. Jared won’t be back before nightfall. They’re shooting some real complicated scenes this season, he says. Lots’a emotional investments from his role. Well, that’s Jared’s specialty.

Jensen indulges in a fresh pot of coffee before he makes his round of the property—feeding the dogs, the chickens. He whistles for Jackie who appears out of nowhere, ears erect and awaiting more than the pet Jensen gives her. But he’d rather not chance it. His limp’s gotten worse. He tries not to think about it.

“I know girl, I know.”

By the time the truck has made its way into the driveway, it’s long dark out. Jensen’s scrolling through instructions on how to tell if your rib is broken or not and clicks out of the tab upon hearing the front door. Back to _Rabbit With Thyme_ , cookitsimply.com.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey.” A kiss. Jared is seat-heater warm. “How was your day?”

The question gets dismissed with a smile and a, “Eh, same old,” and Jared shrugs his coat off during his beeline to the kitchen. He calls, “I’m starving!” like a stubborn three-year-old, and Jensen wished it didn’t work so well on him.

He hollers, “It’s almost done,” and shuts the PC down before he joins Jared in the kitchen.

The nights are long, out here. Not lonely, they have each other, but, still. Jensen’s been out here for so long he can’t tell anymore if it calms or sedates him.

Jared pats the empty spot on his side of the bed. “C’mere girl, c’mon! Good girl, good girl.”

“Not on the bed. Jesus.”

“Papa’s talking nonsense,” coos Jared, absorbed in ruffling Jackie’s fur with both of his huge hands. Jackie cranes her neck for more. “Who’s my best girl? You are, you are!”

Jensen groans, “Stop spoiling her.” He rubs at his good eye, rolls onto his other side to watch the two.

“I could spoil my own boys if Papa allowed them inside the house, wouldn’t I, baby?”

Jensen claps him on the shoulder. “Stop being an idiot. Jackie, down.”

Jared lets her go and slumps back into the pillows, scowling. “You had her all day.”

“Well, you were _gone_ all day.”

Jared scoffs, knowingly. Peers over at Jensen and cups his face when he hefts himself onto his lap, warm under the covers, too hot with Jared below him.

Jared kisses him like Jensen’s the only thing he’s ever had. Asks, up against his mouth, “Yeah? Again?” and Jensen’s nodding with one of Jared’s nipples between forefinger and thumb, his other hand worming south. It doesn’t take much effort to get him hard again.

Jensen’s sore already, and maybe that’s the best part of it.

Jared can feel it too; he’s shivering the words, “Fuck,” and, “Baby,” so taken aback, still. Like the fact that Jensen lets him do this never stopped amazing him.

Jensen kisses the murmurs directly from the source as he lets himself fall.

~

“I was thinking, maybe I should go see a doc.”

“What? Yeah?” Jared blinks over his breakfast, autopilots one arm out for Jensen to curl into. “Dentist again, or?”

“My hip.” Jensen puts a warm hand on Jared’s shoulder for emphasis, sympathy. “’S gettin’ worse. I dunno.”

Jared says, “Huh,” and rubs at the body part in question. He lets Jensen pluck his hair out of his eyes.

Time goes by differently, out here. There’s no use in clocks or watches. Jared comes back to him after dark, leaving the light hours with Jensen himself. It’s overwhelming, raw. The sky is blinding, and the air hurts. Every movement seems clumsy or stiff. A pain. It’s not what or where he’s supposed to be.

The loneliness baits him out to the horses, to Jackie’s side. He watches them without a sense of time. Hunger is his single rhythm.

When it gets dark, the world narrows down. Becomes manageable. There’s meaning in the dark. Purpose.

It’s warmer, at night. With the fireplace and Jared’s body, Jared’s voice. It’s inside him, it seems like, sometimes. In between Jensen’s own thoughts, delicately woven in. Torches in the forest for a mindless wanderer.

“Please.”

“Please what.”

His tongue flicks over split after split, only takes so many fragments of a second. Jensen half-clears his throat so his voice doesn’t break again. “Do that again.”

Jared couldn’t hit a girl this way. And that’s got one fucked-up kind of pride blooming in Jensen, to be honest. It’s nothing Jared would ever, _ever_ say to him. That’s all himself.

Jared couldn’t hit anyone this way, period.

They’re falling together, like that. Huddle up after, nurse the wounds. Jared always makes sure to kiss it better. He’s not a bad guy.

Jensen comes hardest whilst riding those highs. In the light of those white-hot currents bolting through him, there’s not right or wrong. Only them, working like clockwork, fused to the point of unity.

It’s the entire point.

There’s miles and miles of nothing and nobody around them, and Jared plays into that. Jensen’s always been quiet if he could choose to be. It’s been a game, ever since they met, to coax him out of his shell. Jared, he’s never had to be asked. Jensen loves that kid with the huge hands and the even bigger heart who’s all soft and pliable until you really meet his core. He’s solid, there, where it counts. Where Jensen made his home years ago.

They know each other so well it should have turned boring a while ago. Should shock and humiliate him what he lets Jared do, what Jared _does_ , and Jensen might wail but he always leans into it. Welcomes it. Jared swears he spirals into chants of ‘yes’ when he’s really out of it, encouragements, ‘moremoremore’—Jensen can’t doubt him, not exactly. Not that he remembers those details with his man punching wrist-deep.

The stretch is blinding and sudden and breathtaking. He can’t even care his face rubs blood into the good linen.

“Ohmygodohmygod, ffuuuckk.”

Jared rams another handful of inches home and Jensen jolts with the force of it. Scrambles for that arm between his legs, can’t stop the sobbing nor the shaking, and Jared’s hissing, then roaring, before dislodging those nails from his flesh.

“Hold—still.”

Jensen howls.

It’s the coldest. That eternity. Sometimes he’s not there to witness it. Tonight, he’s not as lucky.

Half-conscious on the bed, belly down, he’s paralyzed. The world is clear, and time is running—the shower, Jared, clearing the worst mess, broken anythings shattered and cluttered around the room.

Jared, sniffing. The scent of disinfectant, the pained noise accompanying the application of it on a fresh wound. Jared usually patches himself up before he turns to Jensen (just so he can concentrate on him a full hundred percent, he says).

The varying throbs, and pains. Liquid spilling, drying, flaking on his skin. The thin pull of his breath. Jensen’s eyes are open, but he can’t see. The only motivation to move again, ever, is Jared. Move as he’s told or, finally, curl up with him, ignore all the sores and just be close. Hold, be held.

It’s crushing, and everything Jensen wants. Or needs.

~

It’s dog food day. Jensen’s not supposed to converse with the delivery guys but he’s such a nice customer to help them carry all the shit to where it belongs even though they’re not on the clock, and hey, man, what happened to your face, you alright?

Jensen smiles closed-lipped and sweet, and gives a quick spit of blood into what used to be a patch of grass (and will _return_ to be a patch of grass in the spring, the summer) before he jokes about Yetis, about monsters, out here, you wouldn’t know, tough neighbors. He shoulders the next sack and gets moving.

The kennel whispers and yips, but aside from that, the farm remains quiet.


End file.
